


Suo Gan

by MaeveBran



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3344390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaeveBran/pseuds/MaeveBran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started as Jo and Henry babysitting at the hospital. Then it morphed into another way Jo finds out about Henry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Detective Jo Martinez paced paced up and down the hospital corridor with the crying infant in her arms. The first hour, the little princeling had been good, but now that it was an hour and a half in and his mother had to wake, the boy was getting fussy.

“Here let me,” Henry said. Jo transferred the infant to his arms. He checked the diaper and it was wet so he asked the nurse to use the nursery changing table and diapers and changed the infant into a dry diaper. The crying was less now but he was still fussy.

Henry tried the pacing and still the baby fussed.

“Alright little one,” Henry said to the still fussing infant. “If this doesn't work than nothing will.” And then he began to sing.

“Huna, blentyn yn fy mynwes  
Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon  
Breichiau mam sy'n dyn am danat,  
Cariad mam sy dan fy mron...”

Jo looked up at the sound of the rich baritone voice. She was stunned. She had no idea that Henry could sing like that. It made her knees week. What was he singing? And in which language now? She'd heard him speak Russian and Latin but this was neither one. The song sounded familiar but she couldn't place it. It clearly was a lullaby and was working as the infant had finally quit fussing and was drifting off to sleep. 

The sight of Henry singing to a now sleeping infant as he swayed in the waiting room made Jo smile. He was clearly very good with children. It was a shame he didn't have any of his own. I'd love to give him one, Jo thought as she watched him. She shook that thought off almost as fast as it occurred to her. She didn't know where it had come from. 

Actually Jo did know where the thought had come from. It had been coming on so gradually for months – ever since she had seen his bare torso when they had rescued him from being tortured. She had mostly been focused on saving him and getting him down from the device he'd been chained to. But later that night she had remembered the feel of his skin under her hands as she checked him for injury and the play of his muscles as he had stretched. He was as good looking as any man she had ever seen (and quite better looking than most). But her interest in the Medical Examiner wasn't just based in his physical appearance. She had long since come to admire his personality and quick mind. He was still one of the weirdest and creepiest men she had ever known, but he was also caring and loyal, even if he did try to keep his distance from most people.

Henry finished the lullaby and with the infant asleep in his arms, he sat in one of the chairs. Jo moved to sit next to him and talk quietly. 

“I didn't know you could sing,” she said as an opening gambit to the conversation.

“I'm Welsh,” Henry answered as if that was all the explanation needed.

“So that's what that language was,” Jo said, almost to herself.

“Yes, I learned it before I learned English as a boy,” Henry said.  
“It was a very pretty song,” she said.

“I've found it usually works,” he answered. “It was ...” He trailed off. He was about to say it had been a favorite when Abraham had been teething, but that would require an explanation he was unprepared for, at this time anyway.

Hour two sped by and hour three quickly followed. The baby slept on. Eventually Henry passed the sleeping bundle to Jo, careful not to wake him. Once he was freed from being a bed, Henry got up and flashed his Medical Examiner identification to the nurse at the nurses station and explained the situation. He asked for an update on Lydia's condition.

“Any word?” Jo asked when he returned to her.

“She's showing signs of waking up,” Henry answered. “Shouldn't be long now.”

He had no sooner finished talking than the baby woke and started fussing. Henry looked at the clock.

“He must be hungry,” he said.

“What gives you that idea?” Jo asked.

“It must be at least four hours since he had anything to eat,” he said. “It's just a guess.”

Henry went and acquired a bottle of formula for the baby and started feeding him. Again Jo looked at her partner. He seemed to both know what he was doing and to be at home doing it. It could be because he was a doctor, but he wasn't that kind of doctor. The practiced movements with economy of motion and grace spoke of long experience with infants and bottles. Where had he acquired such knowledge? Jo pondered. It would just be one more thing to add to the puzzle that was Dr. Henry Morgan.

Once the baby had been fed, burped and changed, he seemed to be happy to play peekaboo for awhile with Jo. She was just getting tired of the game when a nurse came and told them that Lydia was awake. They took the baby to his mother and made arrangements for a portable hospital bassinet to be brought to her.

Lydia thanked them for saving her and her son. Jo told her to rest and that she'd be back tomorrow for her official statement. Then Henry and Jo said goodbye and walked out of the hospital together.

“I'll drop you home,” Jo said. “It's on my way to the station.”

“You're not going back there tonight,” Henry said in disbelief. 

“I have to give my statement about the shooting and fill out some paperwork,” Jo said. “I'll probably have some leave after the case is wrapped up to catch up on sleep.”

“Well, alright then,” he said as he followed her to her car.

“You'd have made a wonderful father,” Jo said as she started the car.

“Thank you,” Henry replied. “I rather think I did alright.”  
Jo flashed him a look before turning her attention back to the road. He must have been talking about tonight. There was no way he was implying that had had a child out there, somewhere. Also he wasn't old enough to know how a child would turn out even if he'd been talking about having had a child. Someday, real soon, she was going to have to confront him about the mysterious little comments he kept dropping. 

Jo risked another glace at him. Yes, she was going to have to confront him about his past soon, but not tonight. He looked drained. He had done the lion's share of the pacing and holding. She'd come by the antique shop tomorrow, after she got Lydia's statement and they'd talk.

“Well goodnight, Jo,” Henry said, once she had pulled up to the curb in front of the antique shop.

“Night, Henry,” Jo said as he opened the door. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“It's my day off,” he said puzzled.

“Do you have plans?” she asked. It had never occurred to her that he might have plans. He always seemed to be at the shop if he wasn't at the morgue.

“No,” he answered. “I have no plans.”

“Then if it's alright with you, I'll come by in the afternoon,” she said. “We have to talk.”

Henry was suddenly worried. He was pretty sure what she wanted to talk about. Well at least he now had a deadline to make up his mind about what and how he was going to tell her.

“I'll be here,” He promised.

“See you tomorrow,” Jo said. Henry closed the door and watched her drive off. He had things to prepare for tomorrow, so he turned and went into the store.


	2. Chapter 2

Henry flitted around the store all morning, the next day. Abraham was mightily amused. He'd never seen his father flit anywhere before. Henry was ostensibly dusting the merchandise, but really he was pacing around with a feather duster in his hand and occasionally using it on the various nicknacks on the many surfaces.

“What's gotten into you?” Abe asked as he brought down sandwiches for their lunch. Henry put down the duster and walked over to the desk where Abe had set out their lunch.

“Jo's coming over this afternoon,” Henry replied as he bit into his sandwich.

“As in a date?” Abe asked. “Finally.”

“No,” Henry said. “She wants to talk. I think I know what about.”

“Your condition?” Abe asked.

“I think so,” Henry admitted.

“So what happened?” Abe asked. “Did you die in front of her?”

“No,” Henry answered

“Thank God,” Abe said. “So does how does she know?”

“I may have been dropping hints,” Henry said.

“That's unlike you,” Abe said, shaking his head. “You're normally so tight lipped about it.”

“My sense of irony may have gotten the best of me a few too many times,” Henry admitted.

The clocks in the shop chimed a chorus of one o'clock in the afternoon. Henry set down his sandwich and stood.

“I'll put this in the refrigerator for later,” Henry said. “There are some things I want to set up in the laboratory before she gets here.”

“You're not going to demonstrate, are you?” Abe asked worried.

“That is not in the plan,” Henry said. “I plan on showing her the photographs, if you don't mind?”

“By all means,” Abe gave his permission.

“And my journals,” Henry said. “I think that should be enough.”

Henry had barely had time to spread the pictures and journals on the table in the sitting area of his laboratory when Jo came down the stairs.

“I hope this is alright,” Jo said as she reached the last stair. “Abe said you were down here.”

“No, it's fine, Detective,” Henry said, nervously. “Jo.” he corrected.

“Henry, are you ok?” she asked walking over to him and putting a hand on his forearm.

“Perfectly fine,” he said looking down at her hand. No one, except Abe, had touched him as often as this woman had in the last six months than in the whole of the time since Abigail had left him. “Why do yo ask?”  
“You seem nervous,” Jo said. “I just want to talk.”

“I know,” he said. “That's what makes me nervous.”

“Is there a reason to be?” she asked as she dropped her hand from him. “Is there something you're keeping from me?”

“There is,” Henry answered. “Would have a seat?” He gestured to the seating area. 

She looked at him and took a seat on the fainting couch. Henry sat next to her in the armchair.

“I'm afraid you'll figure it out,” he said. “And hate me for not telling you myself.”

“Henry,” Jo said sternly. “You're scaring me.”

He jumped up and paced before her.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm not used to telling people. I've only told four people and it is fifty- fifty on weather it goes badly or not. One time it went as badly as possible.”

“Whatever it is,” she said, trying to soothe him. “I doubt it's something I'd have to lock you up for.” She teased, “After all, I know of your tendency for indecent exposure.”

“My wife did just that when I told her,” he said.

“Abigail?” Jo said surprised. “I'm surprised. You always talk about her in glowing terms. Like she was the light of your life.”

“She was,” Henry said, with that same slightly dreamy expression he always wore when talking about Abigail. “I meant my first wife, Nora.”

“First wife?” Jo exclaimed. “I barely know anything about you, do I?”

“I'm trying to fix that,” Henry said.

“Well you're making a hash of it,” she said. “How about you start with the beginning?”

“Alright,” he said with a sigh as he sat down. “You know my birthday? You saw it in my file?”

“I did see it,” she admitted. “September 19, 1979, if I remember right.”

“That's what the file says,” he agrees. “It's mostly right.”

“Mostly right?” she asks.

“It should say September 19,1779,” Henry says. 

“1779?” Jo exclaims. “You're kidding me, right?”

“Not in the least,” he answers. “Now you know why Nora had me locked up. She didn't believe me when I told her.”

“When was that?” she asks.

“1815,” he said.

“She didn't believe you'd been born thirty-six years earlier?” she said puzzled. “I knew life expectancy was shorter than today's but somehow, I didn't expect thirty-six to be impossibly ancient.”

“It wasn't my age she didn't believe,” Henry said with a smile. Leave it to Jo to put it in perspective.

“Then what didn't she believe,” she asked.

“That I'm immortal,” he said. “I can die but I always come back. Awakening in a near by body of water.”

Jo sat and absorbed what Henry had said. Immortal. Hmm. It made sense of the things that had been bugging her for awhile. The most recent was a few days before when Henry had implied that he had live one very long life, when she had accused him of knowing ten lifetimes of information. Wait a minute, he had said he awoke in water. Could that be the East River?

“Would that be naked, in the body of water?” Jo asked, as she put a few pieces of the puzzle together.

“It would,” Henry answered. “You're taking this well.”

“You've dropped enough hints and I am a detective,” she said. “I'm not sure what I was thinking but I knew something about you wasn't adding up. What you just told me, adds up.”

“Thank you,” he said, relieved. 

“For what?” she asked.

“For believing me,” he said. “And for not requiring proof.”

“Proof?” Jo asked. “What kind of proof did you fear I'd need?”

“For me to die in front of you and come back,” Henry said. “I tried that with Nora, and that's when she had me locked up in the insane asylum. Let me tell you, the Charing Cross Asylum was no where near as nice as Bellevue.” He shuddered at the memory.

“You tried to … in front of your wife?” she said, incredulous. “No wonder she had you locked up.”

“It was not my finest hour,” he admitted. “But I didn't know how else to convince her.”

“I don't suppose there are many ways to offer proof of such a thing,” she agreed.

“These days, I have other proof, if you want to see,” he said as he gestured to the photographs on the table. A daguerreotype of Henry from Paris in 1840, a tin type of him in a regiment of Confederate soldiers in 1862, another of him in London in the 1880's, a photo of the staff of a New York hospital in 1906, a photo of Henry and Abigail in their uniforms at V- E day. One of their wedding with Henry holding a baby. A series of family portraits from the 1950's and 60's. A picture of Henry and an older Abigail in the 1970's. There were a couple of Henry and Abraham through the 1980's and one of when they opened the store twenty years ago. Jo took these and examined them as he handed them to her.

“That's remarkable,” she said after the last photo had been put back. “You have a son?”

“Abraham,” he confirmed. 

“Well, don't tell Hanson and Lucas,” she said with a wink.

“Why not?” he asked.

“They have a bet going on when the two of your will come out of the closet and announce your impending marriage,” Jo said.

Henry laughed. “They're not the first to assume that. I thought we were past that, though.”

Jo joined in the laughter, now that she knew what the joke was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting away from me. It might run four chapters but for sure three.


	3. Chapter 3

Once the laughter faded, Jo looked around the laboratory. It wasn't her first time in there, but now that she knew Henry's secret it took on another meaning.

“What is all this stuff, Henry?” she asked.

“I'm looking for a way to end my curse,” he said simply.

“Your curse?” Jo asked puzzled. Then it occurred to her, he viewed his immortality as a curse. “You view it as a curse?”

“Everyone I have ever loved has died, with the exception of my son and he gets closer to it everyday,” Henry said. “I have outlived one wife and for all I know a second, and countless friends and several lovers with no end in sight. I will out live you and Hanson and even Hanson's children unless I can put an end to this. It is a curse, Jo. I'm tired of watching loved ones die.”

Jo got up and sat on the arm of his chair. She looked at him and saw that he was weighted by the weight of all he had seen. She put an arm around his shoulder in wordless comfort. She had no words to comfort this man, who had seen so much.

Henry leaned into her arm. It had been so long since anyone other than Abe had tried to give him comfort that he couldn't help it. It felt just so damned good. He leaned so far into the touch that he unbalanced her. He quickly wrapped an arm around her to steady her. 

Jo felt herself slipping and over corrected just as Henry slipped an arm around her. The weight of his arm pulled her onto his lap. She looked up at him in surprise. He looked down at her, concerned. Their mouths inches away.

Henry bent his head until his lips almost touched hers. She moved the last fraction of an inch and their lips met. The kiss was tentative at first, but then Jo wrapped an arm around Henry's neck and pulled him closer. That was all the invitation he needed. Henry slipped his tongue between her open lips. Her tongue dueled with his. 

Jo started sliding off his lap and stood. She reached for him with her hands and pulled him to stand with her. Henry bent to kiss her again and she wrapped both arms around his neck as she enthusiastically entered into the kiss. He arms wrapped around her. He ran one hand up and down her back and eventually freed her blouse from the waistband of her jeans. He worked his hand under the material and found bare skin. Jo moaned at the contact. That only encouraged him. His other hand joined the first and together they pulled her as close as possible. She wrapped a leg around his, trying to get even closer.

Henry turned a little and sat on the fainting couch and pulled her, straddling, on top of him without breaking the kiss. Jo sat up and reached for the buttons on his cardigan. She got it free but was unable to remove it due to the chain of the pocket watch. He sat up and removed both the sweater and watch. The sweater he threw into the now abandoned chair but the watch he put on the coffee table.

“Sometime, we are going to talk about that watch,” Jo said as Henry lay back down. “But not now.” 

“Not now,” he agreed.

Jo leaned down and unfastened the buttons on his shirt. She tried to push it off as well but became frustrated by the cuffs. Once she had those undone as well, the shirt came off, only to reveal the white undershirt below.

“How many layers are you wearing?” she asked with a laugh.

“This is the last,” he said with a smile. He sat up again and removed the offending garment. He threw that after the cardigan.

Jo took in the sight of his bare torso. It wasn't the first time but this was different. Once again she noticed the scar. This time she touched it, with feather light fingers.

“We'll talk about that too,” she said as she leaned in to replace her fingers with her lips. 

“Later,” he agreed. He normally tried to ignore the scar but the way Jo was lavishing attention on it, made him feel like it was a part of him and not reminder of his curse.

Henry, finally, reached up and unfastened her blouse. He pushed it off her shoulders, revealing her sensible flesh colored bra beneath. The necklace with Sean's wedding ring hung between her breasts. 

“Jo,” Henry asked. “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure,” Jo said as she reached back to remove the necklace. She placed it on the coffee table next to his pocket watch. She leaned down again and started kissing him again.

Henry smiled against her lips and reached behind her and unfastened her bra. He pulled it off of her and cupped her breasts with his hands. She leaned into his touch. He sat up and covered one breast with his mouth. Jo moaned again. She reached down and undid his belt and slipped it free of the loops on his pants. She dropped it on the growing pile of clothing and then started working on the fastenings of the pants themselves.

Henry slid out from under her and stood. He toed off his loafers before removing his pants and boxers in one practiced move. He sat at the foot of the fainting couch, took off his socks and removed her shoes and socks as well. He reached for the button of her jeans. He paused and looked her in the eye. She nodded. He unfastened the button and unzipped the zipper. She lifted her hips and he dragged the jeans and her underwear down her legs and off of her.

Henry gazed at her naked form for a moment. She was every bit as lovely as he had imagine (though he had tried not to). He bent and kissed her ankle, Henry had been an ankle man ever since he had found out about women and sex. In his youth, respectable women had kept them covered, so it was a sign of her interest if you had had a chance to see a lady's ankle. Somehow, two centuries had never changed that.

“Henry,” Jo giggled. His stubble tickled on her ankle. “What are you doing?”

“Admiring your ankles,” he said. 

“You can admire my ankles latter,” she said as she reached to pull his head up to hers.

“Certainly,” Henry said as he kissed her again. He traced one hand down her torso and across her stomach. He lightly brushed his hand down her stomach and between her legs. She was wet and ready, but Henry had always liked his lovers to not just be ready but begging for it so he teased her there, in her most intimate place.

“Henry,” Jo Growled. “Please.”

Henry smiled against her mouth as he obeyed the unspoken command in her words and slid into her. She sighed as he hit the right spots inside her and wrapped her legs around him, to pull him closer. It took them a few minutes but they eventually found a mutually satisfying rhythm. Jo started to cry out her orgasm but Henry covered her mouth with his to muffle it. He kept kissing her to stifle his own pleased cry.

Henry shifted to lay on his side with half covering him as their breathing returned to normal. Jo had her hand on his scar again, tracing the edges with her finger.

“So how did you get this?” she asked. “I know you said you were shot, but that had to have killed you.”

“It did,” he answered as he covered her hand with his and stilled it. “Of all my deaths, that first one is the only one to have left a scar.”

“What happened?” she asked, needing to know what had brought on the immortality.

“I was on one of my father's ships. I'd thought he ran a shipping company, but had found out a few years before that he also ran illegal slaves,” Henry shuddered at the memory. “Anyway, I booked passage from England to Africa and then onto America on one of the ships to start a new life and then send for Nora. On the way from Africa, one of the slaves had a fever and since I was a doctor...”

“You examined him,” Jo filled in.

“Only the captain didn't believe me when I said it wasn't cholera,” he said. “He was going to shoot the sick man and I stood in front of him. The captain shot me and had me thrown overboard. I drowned as I bled out. I resurfaced close to another boat and was brought on board. It took me a year to work my way back home.”

“Henry?” Abe called from the top of the stairs. “Is Jo staying for dinner?”

Jo scrambled for her clothes pulling on her under wear and jeans in one swift move.

“Are you?” Henry asked as he also pulled on his boxers and pants.

“If you'll have me,” she said as she put on her bra.

Henry crossed to the foot of the stairs as he fastened his pants.

“She says she will,” Henry said up to his son.

Abraham looked at his father. The missing upper garments could be explained away as Jo needing to see the scar. The missing socks and messed up hair Henry was sporting combined with the faint sounds he'd heard wafting up the stairs combined to tell Abe that his father might have finally found a companion to end his loneliness. Abe smirked at his father.

“Don't start, Abraham,” Henry said in his most authoritarian, fatherly voice.

“I'll make plenty of sauce for the pasta then,” Abe said as he turned away and headed upstairs. Clearly, his father's confession had gone well. He may be too old for a step-mother but Henry wasn't too old to need a wife, a companion to help him when Abraham was gone. Maybe he'd get siblings. Wasn't that an odd thought for a septuagenarian. Abe started to hum one of the lullabies Henry had sung to him when he was younger.

“Huna, blentyn yn fy mynwes  
Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon...”

**Author's Note:**

> Suo Gan is a Welsh lullaby. The verse quoted in the story is in Welsh (here is a link to Charlotte Church singing the song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-F9hKsw-KI). The song was first written down in 1800 (according to Wikipedia) but who knows just how old it really is. I imagine if it isn't old enough for Henry to have learned it as a child, then he spent some years in Wales since it was popularized.
> 
> Also, I have no idea if Henry is supposed to be Welsh or not but since Ioan Gruffudd is and Henry Morgan is a very Welsh name, I went with it.


End file.
